A Shade from Perfection
by TimeinRhyme
Summary: Maybe he should have been more specific when he said he wanted to be ginger. Future Doctor oneshot.


**Hello everybody! I'm new to this, as you can probably tell. I actually did this for writing assignment in school. I _might_ follow this up with more if you guys like it. This Doctor would be a future Doctor, not actually the 13th, as he doesn't seem to fit quite after our current (12th) Doctor, at least in the way that I have envisioned him. **

**Doctor Who might be mine in an alternate universe, not here though. I would change some things if it were. Read on and enjoy!**

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The fiery energy finally subsided. He layed on his back, breathing deeply, finding the ceiling of his ship suddenly looked different. No, he must be _looking_ differently.

He rolled his head forward, spending several seconds trying to focus. His vision finally cleared. He smirked at his clothes, the danger-attracting tux had finally bit off more than it could chew. The jacket was a mess, torn up and unbuttoned. The shirt underneath though... soaked with bloody red, so slightly orange tinged, he knew it was his own. He was pretty sure it was white when he put it on. Blimey! That was enough blood to kill somebody. No, wait. Of course! It already had. No need to worry then. He hoisted himself up to his elbows, and the whole room shifted with him. He blinked and glanced to the side. A crumpled bow tie lie a few feet away, under the console, which was far taller than he remembered. _I'm a midget!_ He would have to redo the entire console room. _Hang on...you're on the floor. Get a grip Doc. Shut up._

In one smooth motion he swung to his feet, felt gratified at being at a higher viewpoint, and immediately fell forward, catching himself with his hands on the console. Hands! He looked down at them. They were smaller than his old ones, with longish fingers. Hands were always useful. Feet too. He looked up towards the ceiling again. Had it always been that color? Oh, right, feet. No, they were on the floor. He looked down at them and saw two dress shoes. He concentrated on feeling for a moment, then wiggled his toes. The shoes felt larger than before. Two feet. How many was he supposed to have? He felt bewildered for a moment. If he had two shoes then two feet must be about right. He smiled slightly and puffed a breath of in satisfaction. So far so good.

Now for the face. He looked up hurriedly, searching the room. He focused on the console in front of him and drew in a breath. "Mmmm mi mirror!" His face split into a smile. He could talk too! That would probably prove unfortunate for some people in the future, or past. He pushed away from the console, spending several seconds to confirm his center of gravity. He glanced around, happy to find his eyes focusing normally, and surveyed the room for his requested abject. There! Sitting on a wall down a few steps off of the console level. He took a couple shaky steps forward, soon becoming steady. He strode around the console and down the steps. He paused for a steadying breath, before confronting the stranger's face in the mirror.

NO! He vaguely registered narrowish, well-formed features and dark brown eyes. But none of that mattered. It was the hair...not quite ginger, a shade from perfection, and the last thing he wanted. "No, no, no!" He turned back to the stairs and dropped onto a step, burying his head in his hands. _It's not a big deal,_ he told himself, _don't get so upset._ He lowered his hands, and turned his eyes to his shirt. It was still wet. He sniffed and looked up. It did bother him. He didn't want that kind of reminder. That red. In his hair and on his shirt **  
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 **I'd like to clarify my colors here, as this fic was based off the technical meaning of ginger ( difference-between-ginger-and-vs-redhead/). I think of ginger as a light-yet-fiery hue of orange. Assuming the Doctor has always meant the same, and judging by what we know of his physiology in regards to blood color, I wondered if his reaction might not be so positive if his hair was more red, specifically the color of Gallifreyian blood.**

 **Good reviews are like sweet summer rain**

 **Constructive criticism clears my minds window pane**

 **Reviews with language will be washed down the drain**

 **\- A poem, by me**


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